


Try to Remember

by requiembycandlelight



Category: The Authority
Genre: Gen, M/M, My First Fanfic, Not Shippy, Rugby, gratuitous rugby, pre/early-Authority (1999)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/requiembycandlelight/pseuds/requiembycandlelight
Summary: Drinking with Midnighter in a bar in a vaguely English setting, Apollo is worried he has been recognized. He ends up learning more about himself.





	Try to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> This grew entirely out of my love for Apollo and my obsession with rugby. Apologies for the general lack of shippiness, check back again later. I imagine the original Apollo (white hair and a tan) and Mid from the solo series (ginger faux-hawk).  
> This is my first fic. If it's crap, tough cookies, this is a tiny-ass fandom and we take our scraps.  
> I tried to come up with a better rugby pun for the title. This is all I got.

The pub was small enough and dark enough that there was really no chance of recognition. Apollo’s face and hair were unique, but he had made a bid for normalcy in the jeans and button-up he wore, and put some extra effort into keeping the halo effect down. The Midnighter had it easier. No one could have any idea the ginger across from Apollo was the terror of the night. He had even traded his black duster for a bomber jacket – wanting the anonymity, but reluctant to give up all his protective leather. Mid was the one who went to get the drinks, Apollo trying his hardest to relax into the darkest corner they could find.  
Three beers in no one had even glanced their way, so Apollo stood, despite M’s protests, to fetch their next round. A group of young men materialized at the bar by the time he got there. They all wore shorts and tight striped athletic tops, and all bore some sort of cut or bruise. Rugby, his mind supplied, with no context as to where the knowledge had come from. The shortest of the men was the one ordering the first round. The back of his jersey had a “9” emblazoned over the stripes, and he was jumping to wrap an arm about the neck of a tall man with a “5”. The back of Apollo’s brain said scrum-half, lock. 5 slapped at 9 and he slid back down, stumbling a bit on the landing and bumping into Apollo. The short man turned, “Sorry, mate, third pub we’ve been in tonight, you know how—” he cut off, obviously taken aback by how far up exactly he had to look, despite his present company. His eyes shot wide and Apollo panicked a bit. They had come to the smallest, dingiest pub they could find out in the middle of the English countryside, and it was the one pub with someone who recognized him. M was right.  
But his worries were unfounded. The guy slapped at the closest one of his friends to turn around and blurted out “Fuck, mate, please tell me you play. Eno,” this was directed to the friend who was similarly looking Apollo up and down in an admiring, but completely non-sexual way. “Eno, he’s gotta play, yeah? I’m gonna cry if you say you don’t.”  
Eno was a 2, hooker in Apollo’s head. He didn’t remember much of his life before Bendix got in his head, but this seemed like too much for an American like him to know about a relatively unpopular sport.  
Eno was talking now. “Definitely a forward. You’re too big to be a flanker, but don’t have the right proportions for a prop. Tall enough for a lock, but again, the build…”  
And then Apollo knew. He grinned “Number 8, but I haven’t played since high school.”  
The scrum-half pointed an excited finger at him, “I knew it! You had to be a rugger, it was just meant to be! That accent… you’re wasted on America, no decent clubs. Bri!” This was directed towards the bartender, “This guy’s next round on us!” He turned back to Apollo, who was opening his mouth to protest. “You can’t say no. Just, come ‘round to practice while you’re in town, yeah? It isn’t right for a guy like you to put down the ball for good.” He produced a broken pencil from his shorts and scribbled something on a napkin, shoving it at Apollo. “Maybe bring that bloke glaring daggers from the corner. He looks like he could use it, too.”  
Apollo turned, bemused, and sure enough, Midnighter looked ready to pop a vein, already intense eyes bordering on murderous. He smiled and lifted a hand, letting M know everything was okay. When he turned back, the men had disappeared to a table and two full pints were being pushed towards him by the bartender.  
Back at their table the Midnighter asked, “What was that all about?” Apollo grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.  
“Just learning a bit about myself.” An easy, bright grin slid onto his face, “What do you know about rugby?”


End file.
